Collar
by Eduard Kassel
Summary: The Wily twins knew that so long as they had each other, no hardship could break them. But once they are separated by a mark of servitude, how will the twins change? One serving above bound by resignation, the other reigning below bound by ambition. How will the fate of Thundera itself change? 2011 Series AU.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Thundercats 2011.

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><p><strong>Collar<strong>

Chapter I:

_The Prince's Slave_

Despite everything, Wilykit found herself marveling at the sheer beauty of the throne room of Thundera. Her father had told them of the legendary beauty of the palace, but to see it was something else. Everything was so big, polished, clean! The sun streaming in, lighting up the polished marble that reflected her and the cleric beside her.

She felt her tail tick in, as she wanted to shrink in on herself and disappear. She just felt filthier than ever next to the perfection surrounding her. And more than that, wanting to escape the attention of the great lion who sat enthroned above her.

Another figure out of stories, King Claudus IV of Thundera, direct descendant of Leo the Thundercat. He was huge, bigger than her father, with a great red mane and dressed in the blue finery of the royal house. His golden circlet seemed a waste; he could sit on a frayed wicker chair in rags and still be unmistakable as a king, the kit thought.

Two Cats sat in lesser thrones flanking him. The elder prince, the much heralded Tygra. He looked mildly interested in the proceedings, but seemed more intent on his father and brother. The Grand Cleric Jagga sat on his throne, clad in a far more intricate uniform and armor than his subordinate beside her. No veil hid the elder jaguar's wrinkled face. She was surprised when he met her stare and his white mustache twitched in a smile.

Kit almost gasped at the gesture from another great cat.

"Lion-o," the King rumbled. He even talked like a king!

The young lion, who stood with his back to her, winced visibly. He had taken the time to remove the cloak he had tried to disguise himself with.

A bad disguise – Wilykat had spotted him as an easy mark. A stranger to the slums, a rich cat disguised to blend in. Probably looking to buy scandalous things, and with a heavy purse for it. But no one would mind them robbing a stranger, or stick their paws out to aid some rich boy in a chase.

It had gone perfectly. Kat, with the bump and distraction, and Kit had slipped behind and slit his purse from his belt. It had been heavy. And his senses were sharp enough to realize she was there, a moment too late.

Kit had not worried about the bigger cat catching her, even without Kat distracting him. Slummers and soldiers were dangerous, survivors, like they had become. But rich cats exerted themselves for play or lessons, they did not know how to move unexpectedly and tired quickly. Kit had been a farm girl, working long hours as soon as her parents deemed her back strong enough, making her games around the needs of the farm. And then she had needed to survive in the slums where every adult was a potential predator.

His legs were longer, but she was smaller, and knew her way around. His angry shouts quickly receded and stopped.

Giving up as expected – they would eat well tonight, maybe get some good patches for their clothes, too.

Then the cleric had snatched her clear off the ground. And so matters had proceeded from there.

"Father," the prince answered.

"Why in the name of the Great Sky Cat's claws were you in the slums? You were supposed to be studying the classics today," the King demanded.

"I… asked around, and heard there was a dog who sells technology. Real tech from the wastelands!" Lion-o answered. The King sighed, and for a moment he looked like a father rather than a king.

"It figures," the tiger prince said. He looked like he was going to laugh, until he caught the glance the king gave him.

"Again, your obsession with legends, Lion-o. Would that you applied yourself to anything else so diligently.

"Jagga, your clerics knew of this and did nothing?" Claudus asked.

"We are the guardians of the crown, not its jailers. Young Lion-o was never in any danger. And you might recall in your youth, Caludus, that I allowed you misadventures to find yourself away from the ceremony of the palace," the elder cat said gently.

"Really?" Lion-o asked, turning his head toward the cleric. The tiger also looked surprised.

"…True, old friend, but this youthful folly has consequences. Lion-o, do you understand what you have done? This pickpocket has committed a crime against the Crown Prince. For a commoner cat, the penalty is at minimum losing the paw used to commit the crime," King Claudus explained.

"No!" Kit shrieked, hiding her paws in her armpits. Her tail fur stood on end and she would have bolted had the cleric not grabbed her shoulder. She flinched and sank back to her knees at the painfully tight grip.

All eyes were on her as she whimpered, held down by the enrobed figure.

"A paw?" Lion-o asked, numbly.

"I didn't know!" Wilykit shrieked in protest. Claudus scowled, looking to his son.

"That is true, she did not know. Because what prince would hide their status and skulk about the slums? Much less do so and let himself be robbed like some fat merchant? By a child no less?" Claudus growled.

The Prince wilted before his father; Kit would find it funny he was angrier at the cat that was not going to loss a paw, if she weren't terrified.

She was going to be crippled. Standing out was dangerous. She would be a burden to Kat. And if it got bad… people did not get better from being sick in the slums.

She wouldn't be able to play her flute!

"Father, you can't be serious. She's just a kit," Lion-o said softly.

"The law is clear. It is time you learned a hard lesson my son – as a royal, others pay for your poor choices. I regret it, but perhaps a sharp lesson," the King muttered, looking away.

"Your Majesty, I do not think such… extreme interpretations are necessary," Jagga spoke up.

"Yes!" Lion-o shouted. A look from his father shut him up.

"Explain, Jagga," the King said. The elderly cleric nodded to the King before speaking.

"As you say, the law is clear – even if she was ignorant, she has committed a crime against the royal family. But it is clear her acts were not only ignorant, but driven by survival. To enforce the law so unbendingly would tarnish the royal family, not uphold its honor.

"Rather than take a hand, bind both hands, to the service of the royal family."

"Enslavement? You, Jagga?" Prince Tygra spoke up in surprise. Claudus looked to her; she tried to make herself as small as possible.

"Not to the royal family, to you, Lion-o," Claudus said finally.

"Father?" Lion-o asked. The King nodded, some of his foul mood seeming to lift.

"Yes, this slum cat will be your personal slave as Crown Prince. You will be responsible to see to it she has duties assigned and her needs met.

"I have long found the enslavement of Cats, as if they were lower races, a troubling matter. Free servants attend to my needs well enough. But this is an exceptional circumstance.

"The Guard instilled responsibility and discipline in Tygra at a young age. You are not the natural warrior he is, so a different approach, that will hopefully bring you to the same summit," King Claudus said.

"Well said Majesty, experience is the greatest teacher," Jagga agreed.

"Well, little brother, we just might see the top of your desk again," Prince Tygra joked.

"Uh, I really don't need-" Lion-o stuttered, looking over his shoulder at her.

"You have no say in this matter. And rest assured I will be displeased if your negligence extends into this arrangement," Claudus said. He looked to her again, and pointed a claw at her.

"Come forward," he commanded. Gulping, Kit half walked, half scampered onto the seal of the Thundercats carved into the floor, kneeling next to the red haired prince. She could see her face reflected in the polished marble. Wondering how they had laid the red and black crest into the floor, she was snapped out of it by the King speaking.

"Kit, your name," the King commanded.

"Wilykit, Your Majesty! Of clan Feralli," she said. She could imagine them exchanging looks at the clan name. Ferallis were peasants at best and only contributed to the empire as soldiers to die in battle or working a few scratch marks above slaves. The city Ferallis, Kat and her had known better than to even ask for help.

Their father had struck out on his own for a reason.

"Wilykit of the Feralli, do you accept indenture to Lion-o, Crown Prince of Thundera, as penance for your crimes? To be held as his property until your death or the King of Thundera declares your debt paid?" he asked.

'A choice?' she thought, daring a glance up at the King, who had stood up from his throne. The alternative being losing a paw?

Rich people were strange.

"I accept, Your Majesty," she answered.

'Sorry Kat, at least you won't have to look after me now,' she thought. The King spoke again, a guard with fancier armor adorned with red stepping forward.

"Send word to the Chamberlain, Captain. All of Prince Lion-o's personal attendants are dismissed from their duties to him. Their responsibilities now fall to his slave, Wilykit of the Royal Palace. The Chamberlain and other staff are forbidden to assist him in the managing of his room, possessions, or person beyond the advice of a peer," the King decreed.

Soon enough, the throne room was gone like a dream and Kit was standing on a stool in a room full of more clothing and cloth than she had ever imagined in one place. An elderly gray panther woman with spectacles looked her over as two girls slightly older than Kit rushed about.

"A royal slave been too long. Still, we have excess uniforms; you'll be washing them yourself, understand? Take care, the palace has standards to uphold," the old woman grumbled. Kit looked to the mirror to her right, tall enough for most grown-ups to view themselves. A fat woman had scrubbed her quite quickly and vigorously before tossing her in here naked.

Now she wore a dark gray dress with blue trimming. It was sleeveless, the dark blue straps even exposing her shoulders. The skirt went down to her ankles, and a cloth belt of gray left it tightened around her waist.

Her hair had been pulled out of its coil, letting her ears stick out to the side. It made her look too much like her twin, she thought. Besides, having her ears not pulled back just felt wrong.

"Where is my-?" she asked the matron.

"Those rags are burned by now, and a slave asks for nothing. If you want something, beg it of your master. Personally, you are fortunate – the Crown Prince is a weakling. If only his brother could be king someday," the matron almost swooned at the thought of the tiger prince. Kit put a hand to her mouth, giggling.

The cheer died as the matron glared at her. One of the girls (granddaughters of the matron?) handed the matron a small lacquered wood box, with a copper latch.

Smiling in a way Kit did not like, the matron unlatched the box and pulled out a golden band. It was beautiful, about an inch tall, the mark of the Thundercats stamped on it. The matron tipped it, letting Kit see the inside. That was not gold, it was iron; the collar was plated. Kit felt her tail droop at that thought.

"Well, wagger, time to put it on," the matron said. The circle was broken, Kit realized, and the old cat spread it wide. It reminded her of a crawdad claw, and she felt a moment of panic as the old cat put it around her neck.

Click

"You will notice there is no keyhole on the outside. It's been three hundred years since a royal slave had their collar removed while still living. This will be with you until you go to the pyre, the gold to be scrapped from the stone and your ashes scattered.

"Your collar, to remind everyone, especially you, of your place," the matron smiled.

Numbly, Kit hooked two fingers under the collar and gave it a tug. There was room to spare on her scrawny neck, but she could tell it would not slip over her head. She let it fall to rest on her and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked better than she probably had since father died.

The collar was a pretty thing. The glittering gold gave no hint of the iron underneath.

_Two Years Later:_

Wilykit paced outside the great double door of the throne room. The sun shone in through the windows, morning was past, and it was indeed the beautiful day she had guessed when looking out her small window to check the shadows for time.

The routine was simple. Wake up early, clean and dress herself, small breakfast. Fetch breakfast for the Prince if he had not been summoned to share breakfast with someone. Wake him and present him with the food.

Then lay out fresh clothes per his preferences or needs for the day. After that, it was either dispatched to another task or shadowing him until the evening, ready to serve any need. And evening meant washing clothes, cleaning and dusting the chambers, and any other tasks that were required. Then a nice, filling dinner of solid servant food, before crawling into her bed.

It had been a hard load at first, but as a farm girl she had routine ingrained into her. In a way, it reminded her of better times, before wandering the slums in search of marks, uncertainty in every day.

But today she had laid the tray before an empty unmade bed. And sure enough, a set of clothing was missing, along with that Sky Cat-cursed cloak.

Hadn't she reminded him what day it was?! She bared her teeth, her tail bristling in frustration.

A snicker from one of the guards snapped her out of her anger. Clearing her throat, she checked herself in the polished floor. She had grown into her fourteen years. She was clearly growing more like the slender beauties of the court than into a fat cat like the matron. Her hair was pulled back properly again; other cats may not understand how her breed's unique ear structure called for certain propriety, but she did! She may have lived in slums, but she was no tramp stray.

And no, she supposed she did not look like she had ever lived there. She looked like what she was – a well cared for slave with a glittering collar that made her paradoxically lower than most cats, but higher than many.

She ran her tail through her hands, pressing the fur back into place. She adored the modification that let her tail move freely instead of being stuffed in her skirt. Lion-o could be considerate when he wanted to.

Which made this situation all the more frustrating!

Down in the slums again, no doubt. Probably looking over more of the strange garbage that shysters called tech to separate him from his money.

She wished she could share his enthusiasm. The stories he related were incredible. But, it just did not work. And he keep on as if one day if he kept looking, he would find some mystic piece that would turn all the mockery his obsession earned him on its head.

She was uncertain that would ever happen. She was certain the King was getting angrier by the minute as the Princely Rite of Passage was short a prince.

When the door opened and a guard called her in, she gulped.

'Prince Lion-o, I will over-starch your pants for a month for this!' she vowed. Him off enjoying himself, staring at junk, while she – yet again – had to make excuses to King Claudus.

**XXX**

"Whiskers," Lion-o cursed. Three of them. He knew he could take one thug; he may not have been the best student, but he had been trained under Panthro, Grune, and other instructors. Two was a good bet as well; they would likely underestimate him. But three, with only a dagger and his own claws?

Okay then, fat and big, skinny and quick, and a woman who was not very attractive, looking like she wanted to cut his ears off.

He was very glad Tygra was not here to tell him he should have just left the old dog to them.

As he dodged the first strike and landed a solid hit, he admitted he still wasn't regretting it. That old dog was probably a discarded slave; there were few ways for poor animals of other races to make their ways to the slums. Legally, at any rate. A lot were slaves that their owners could get no more work from and could not sell for even a song.

The fat guy body-checked him good. Lion-o was able to block and take the blow, but the difference in strength and size was great enough that hardly mattered.

He fell back, his cloak opening to reveal his fine blues underneath.

"Well boys, what have we here?" the dark-haired thug woman said, smiling.

A streak of yellow, orange, and black whipped through the backstreet, and a woman appeared before him. A cheetah, he realized, seeing her speckles, and as she was standing like that… well, the view was nice.

He watched silently as the staff-twirling cheetah seemingly effortlessly knocked out the thugs. As the last one collapsed with a groan, she turned to face him, a half smile on her face as she planted her staff.

Even better, he thought of the new view. Women at the palace never showed this much fur. And that face. The streak of orange over her eyes and the ridge of her nose was not what he had been told to look for in a woman. But it looked good.

"You alright?" the cheetah asked him.

"Uh, yeah. I could have handled this," he said lamely. She smiled a bit wider and he picked himself up.

"Why would a prince risk his life coming to the slums?" the cheetah asked. She had long hair, not tied up or clearly styled in any way. It looked good.

"Would you like to see?" he asked. She raised an eyebrow, but nodded.

'Yes,' Lion-o thought.

**XXX**

Lion-o was pleasantly surprised that the cheetah did not comment as they made their way around the junkyard to the shack that held the shop. He knew his dog associate did not live here, but the business being out of the way helped. Even the beggars tended to not linger amongst the refuse of Thundera.

"A junk store?" she remarked, following him in. He resisted an urge to sigh at the depressingly typical reaction. Was he the only cat that saw more than bits of wire and metal? She even held that small frown as she poked at a metal hand resting on a shelf. He had checked, and it seemed to most closely resemble a bear paw.

"Not junk, young Miss, technology. Welcome back, young prince," the old dog smiled behind his counter. Lion-o smiled and clasped hands with the fellow enthusiast over the counter. The dog saw what the prince did not, the cheetah's eyes widen for a moment at the friendly greeting.

"Fakes," the cheetah replied neutrally, sounding a bit bored.

"You have anything new from your trip?" Lion-o asked.

"Yes, plenty of the usual scraps, but something new as well. And not from the usual places," the floppy-eared canine said. He reached under the counter and pulled a bundle of dark thick cloth out. Placing it on the counter, he let the eager young cat unwrap it.

"Found it in a ditch while cutting through Lizard country. Would have passed it had a patrol not forced me to hide in the grass. Luckily, they were just bored young recruits.

"As you can see, the item is in excellent condition. Some unlucky collector is missing a fine piece, I expect," the dog told them. Lion-o picked up the circular metal object. It was more complex than it first appeared, buttons and switches, like he had seen on the mechanics of some of the canals or cleric locks.

"Technology is just a myth," the cheetah stated, looking at the item.

"Then what do you call this?" the dog asked affably.

"A fake, crafted by animals like you to make money off cats like him. If technology was real, why has no one ever been able to produce any of those legendary wonders? Magic has missing pieces, but what we have works. These… what can they do?" she asked, gesturing to the stock.

"The Book of Omens spoke of technology. We take the book's words absolutely for magic and the Thundercats, so why do we dismiss it when it comes to technology? The mathematicians think the world is much bigger than our ancestors thought. I mean, the Quest of Omens has been out there for years. Maybe the proof is out there plain as magic in Thundera," Lion-o said, still looking over the piece.

"Well, I suppose that is something. But doesn't a prince have other things to worry over than technology?" she asked. Lion-o paused, and almost dropped the piece of tech.

"Whiskers!"

He hastily paid for the tech and ran from the shack. Stopping a few yards out, he looked back to see the amused cheetah watching him.

"I never got your name!" he called.

"Cheetara, good luck," she called, as he resumed his flight.

"Nice, a bit strange, but nice," she said to herself.

**XXX**

"Late, today of all days," King Claudus complained on his throne. Wilykit knelt before the King, Prince Tygra, and the Chief Cleric on their respective thrones. Looking up, she saw the irritated King, the serene cleric, and the tiger prince making himself more comfortable and stifling a yawn.

"I apologize for his tardiness, Your Graces. I should have reminded him of today's events last night," she said to the most powerful cats in the world.

"I believe you did remind him," Jagga commented.

"It is a sad day when the Crown Prince's personal slave is more dutiful than the Crown Prince. Why can't he be more like you, Tygra?" the King asked.

"You're asking for the impossible, father. Girl, you have made his excuses, why not see if you can find your master instead," Prince Tygra ordered. He was not her master, but it would be foolish to invoke that. Besides, as she rose from the polished marble, she was grateful; at least it got her out of the room.

She let out a deep breath when the doors closed behind her. Now to just-

Kit glanced down the hall and saw Lion-o running down it at full tilt toward her. Her fur stood up as she planted her fists on her waist.

"Master!" she hissed, bringing him up short.

"Sorry," Lion-o said, catching his breath.

"You're late," she said, jumping up to take his cloak off with practiced ease. It stank of the slums.

"Sorry," he repeated. She sniffed him and gave a low, despairing sound at his odor. No time for a bath. At least he still looked presentable.

"They have been asking me where you are," she snapped. Folding the cloak under one arm, she hoped the stench would not stick to her before she had a chance to either toss it, or burn it.

"Sorry!" he said. She pulled one of the doors open herself and he went past her, still saying "sorry".

Then she noticed he had some package still tucked in one arm.

'Sky Cat, why?' she asked, following after him.

When Lion-o stopped before the throne, he noticed he still held his luggage, more junk likely, and looked around in half panic for somewhere to put it. He tossed it to Wilykit, who yowled, dropping the cloak to catch the surprisingly heavy thing.

"Nice work," Tygra said to her. Wilyit nodded thanks, before backing off to stand by one of the pillars as the great cats rose from their thrones.

"Let this sacred rite of passage begin," King Claudus said. Jagga stepped forth, raising his ornate staff.

"Guardians of the Crown, bring forth the Sword of Omens!" Jagga called. The doors opened wide, and though they had not been in the hall moments ago, nine clerics majestically marched into the throne room in procession.

There were nine of them, hidden beneath the golden sky car helms, the white veils and tan armor of their order. She couldn't even be sure of their genders watching the procession, their shapes hidden.

Six marched in rows of three, staffs held at ready, flanking a single unarmed cleric who carried a cushion covered in white cloth. Two more clerics walked ahead and to the side, as if to clear away nonexistent obstacles.

The procession halted before Lion-o, the three high cats descending the stairs to stand with him. Jagga spoke, taking a place beside the Crown Prince:

"While you are indeed destined to wear the crown by birth, young Lion-o, only the Eye of Thundera, the source of our power, will determine if you have the soul of a king," The Chief Cleric declared. The central cleric stepped forward, leaving the protection of its peers, kneeling and holding out its burden.

Jagga pulled the cloth away, and despite having seen it many times, Kit saw her master look in awe on the sword.

"The Sword of Omens and the Eye of Thundera, to see the truth and to wield might in its name. There have been many crowns, many palaces, the power of the Gauntlet has faded, and the Book lost. But the Sword and the Eye have passed though the hands of every king, granting or withholding their blessing.

"Take up the sword, become one with it," Jagga commanded. She watched with bated breath as Lion-o lifted the sword gently and held it before himself. She smiled when he fixed it in a proper grip and gave two practice swings before holding it before himself, smiling at the blade.

Then King Claudus stepped forward.

"Let me show you what the Sword is capable of in the proper hands," the King declared. Lion-o surrendered the sword almost reflexively as his father walked past him. Prince Tygra stepped up, carrying a sword of his own. Lion-o stepped back to make room for the spar between two of the great swordsmen of Thundera.

"Uh-oh! Catch!" Tygra shouted cockily, tossing his sword towards his brother casually. Lion-o panicked a moment, grabbing the blade out of the air.

Then with a roar and flash of lightning, King Claudus was upon him. The Prince blocked, but the force of his father's blow sent him to the floor. He had to use the momentum to roll back to his feet in time to catch the next blow. He kept his feet, if only barely, still forced back.

It was like the stories – steams of white lightning came from the Sword, tearing through the air. It was beautiful and terrifying. What must it be like for the Prince, she wondered?

"The Book of Omens tell us it was Leo, the Lord of the Thundercats, who used this very sword to defeat Mumm-Ra! It was the Thundercats who laid the foundations of Thundera. It was the Thundercats who brought order to a world of warring animals!

"And now it is through the legacy of the Thundercats that we maintain this fragile order!" Claudus proclaimed, striking anew with each statement. At last he relented, looking upon his son. Lion-o was breathing hard, clearly the worse for wear, even as Claudus looked to have barely exerted himself.

Still, he stood and held his sword at ready.

The King gave a very small nod, then turned and walked to the great seal. Reversing his grip, the King plunged the Sword of Omens into the seal, lightning streaming out of it, sending the shadows of the courtroom dancing.

"Now, claim it," Claudus commanded over the living energy. Lion-o dropped the sword he held and walked up to the seal. He stopped, hesitating a moment before the onslaught of energy. The lightning receded, leaving only a few sparks emerging from the Eye itself.

The moment seemed to stretch for ages before the Prince stepped forward, and pulled the blade clear with ease. Once again, he swung the sword, and the lightning surged.

"Yes, that's it," King Claudus said, as Lion-o swung the sword with growing confidence, the lightning surging about his arm without harm.

Then the Prince lowered the tip to nearly touch the seal, which glowed red, almost obscuring him from sight. With a snapping motion, he pulled the sword back up, holding it before him, the Eye held between his own.

And he stopped.

Wilykit cocked her head; the stillness seemed to drain the mysticism out of the air, the sun and wind entered through the windows again, and even the clerics in their bronze armor and white cloth stood to the sides mundanely.

"Why did you stop?" the King demanded. Lion-o flinched, lowering the sword.

"I, saw something," Lion-o said.

"Tell us," Jagga responded. Kit found herself drawing close with the rest. Lion-o pointed to the nearest window.

"That," he said. Kit looked with the rest of them. A pair of lovely young noble cat women were walking through the garden below. Well-shaped beauties, very well attired.

"Me-ow," Lion-o said, taking a place leaning against the windowsill.

'Oh why?' Kit wondered, looking to the ceiling.

The King snatched the sword from Lion-o's hand. She watched the blade retract, letting Claudus return it to its sheath in the Gauntlet of Leo.

"The sword is ready Lion-o, but you are not," The King declared. He turned and left. Soon she and Lion-o were alone in the throne room.

"My prince, you should change into fresh clothes," she said to him.

"Yeah, wash away the shame, eh Kit?" he muttered, walking past her. Kit followed after, before detouring to avoid following him into the royal gardens; he always wanted to be alone there, unless he told her otherwise.

Her direct path to his quarters was blocked, she sensed, stopping at the corner. Hopefully it wasn't kitchen slaves again.

"I asked you to keep an eye on him today for a reason," someone said. Prince Tygra?

"I did, he would have been injured or ransomed had I not been there," some woman replied.

"My brother is not so weak as to get beaten by petty thugs. I hope," Prince Tygra said.

"Well, at least his heart seems to be in the right place," the unseen woman said.

"It's his head I worry about. Couldn't you have gotten him back here on time? Father will not forget this."

It occurred to her she might not want to hear this. Kit decided to take the long way. A prince meeting with strange women was just a little too high for her rank, particularly when it was not her prince.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

_And here is "Collar" a little project that had been bouncing around in my mind for a time. I first wanted to do a TC 2011 AU fic after season one, where I felt there was good opportunity for divergence. That idea "For the Pride!" never really developed especially amidst my other projects._

_This idea came along last year, and absorbed a good bit of material that had been part of the FtP idea. Though it veers as you can see into more AU than divergence at times._

_Yes I aged up the Wilyies. For the darker story here it seemed better to have them add a few years._

_Also Snarf is cut. I originally intended to have him but in october I forget whether he wasp art of the story or not and had to go check my stuff. And realized if Snark's role was so small I the writer could forget, was it really worth keeping? The 2011 Snarf I concluded is far better suited to visual media like the cartoon than writing like what I was going for._

_As for shipping. I have plans, but shipping is secondary as a concern here. Like some other fans I feel shipping tension was overplayed with the love triangle and contributed to the cancelation of the series. So ships, such as they are here will not be revealed until they are revealed. And just because people get together is no guarantee they will stay together._

_Heck the story may develops such that I scrap my original ideas on it as I have in the past for plot stations._

_What else to mention? Okay two more things:_

_One, as part of the attempt some realism time will pass. The Quest I expect to take the characters several years of wandering Third Earth. Also the various cultures ill be touched upon with the worldbuilding such as I tend to do._

_Two, I actually stopped work on this story back in October. In short RL and the decision to work more seriously on my original fiction saw this project cut from my line up._

_Its getting posted now because looking back I saw about three chapters worth of the story had already been written. So why not clean them up and post? So after those chapters are posted I am not sure when the next will come._

_Well that's more than enough for an AN. Hope you enjoyed the start of this story and will continue too._


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Thundercats 2011

_Betaed by:_ ZimsMostLoyalServant & Trackula

* * *

><p><strong>Collar<strong>

Chapter II:

_Masks and Brothers_

"What!?" Wilykit shrieked, fur standing on end. She stared wide-eyed down from the ladder she was perched atop, rag clenched in a fist, her chandelier cleaning quite forgotten. Lion-O winced at his desk, turning away from the new piece of tech resting atop it to cast her an annoyed look.

"You might want to breathe a bit deeper, the whole palace might not have heard you," Lion-O remarked. Bottom lip sticking out, Kit put the rag on the top ladder step and leapt down. Lion-O was trying to be very focused on the tech as she walked up to him.

"You met a woman, in the slums," she reiterated. Lion-O sighed; pulling out a drawer, he extracted one of the labeled pieces of metal scrap. At first glance it looked similar. If tech worked like tools and weapons, common metals might determine common purpose and point of origin. Even if it did not have power, he was certain there were valuable secrets to be taken from these artifacts.

But right now Kit was staring at him.

"That's what I said. A cheetah woman helped me," he told her. He paused, holding the sample to the tech. Oh, that was a slip there, Lion-O realized.

"Help? You almost got mugged again," Wilykit sighed, fiddling with her collar. He turned an annoyed eye on the fourteen-year-old slave. There were days he missed when she was too quiet, but she had grown well into a role as his handler, despite the class difference. Sometimes he wondered if Jaga had plotted that from the start.

The old jaguar always seemed to be one step ahead in a race no one else realized they were in. He wondered if that was a regular trick for priests, or just clerics?

"They weren't after me. They were going after some old dog. He was dirt poor Kit, those cats weren't looking for money," he told her. Kit was from the slums; she would know what it meant when the attack was not over money or food.

When she stayed quiet, he thought she had decided to let the matter lie. Should have known better, he admitted when she spoke up.

"And this cheetah just helped you in your chivalry? People in the slums look out for themselves, my Prince. It's a requirement, not a choice," the slave told him.

"She wasn't a thug or a beggar, she was pretty," Lion-O retorted, before he could stop himself.

'Pretty woman in the slums? Oh no,' Kit thought, the image forming. She could just picture that long hair of the other breeds, probably displaying all that speckled leg and chest fur. Or worse, wearing those tight pants that hide most things while letting males see all the shape!

She should have seen this coming.

"She wasn't a prostitute!" Lion-O protested, seeing her expression.

"They never are, Prince Lion-O. How well dressed was she?" she asked.

"Well she…"

"Oh, my Prince. Tell me you checked your wallet at least?"

"She did not rob me, I bought this afterward."

'Well, that is odd. Oh no! It must be one of those long schemes like Kat talked about the others doing! She wins his trust then either robs him or gets pregnant with his child to blackmail the royal family! The King will blame me if this goes too far!' Kit thought, eyes darting around.

"I showed her the tech shop. Maybe I can meet her again next time. She was not as dismissive as most cats," Lion-O, said looking off wistfully.

'That look… oh no. Some slum hussy with tight pants has him around her finger! She may even be the leader of that gang he fought,' Kit thought, her stomach growing ever queasier.

A cheetah… she had seen their women before. Long legs for running instead of climbing, and big chests, because the Sky Cat hated Ferralis. Using their speed to justify dressing indecently. Those ears, and hair… the Prince probably didn't stand a chance.

"Talking about ladies? Well, maybe there is some hope for you," a cat chuckled. The Prince and the slave turned in surprise to see Prince Tygra leaning against the open doorway. It had been shut; Kit had made sure of that.

The adopted prince entered the room like he did most, as if he had every right to. She saw him note the state of the desk, and the grin slipped slightly. His eyes fell on Kit.

"Wilykit, you have had a busy day tending to my brother. I think he can look after himself while you treat yourself to a good dinner and the bathhouse," the tiger said politely.

She knew a dismissal, but Prince Tygra was not quite the King. Kit looked to her actual master, who kept his eyes on his brother.

Giving a bow, she excused herself. The brothers waited until she had put the ladder away and left. She did not hear a word of their conversation.

**XXX**

"Collaring that one was a good idea. A waste to leave a good young molly in the slums," Tygra commented after Kit had left.

"Makes you wonder if that old treatise on addressing poverty through enslavement might have some merit. Though personally I say she is an exception," Tygra continued the small talk. He was leaning down now, an uninvited hand resting on the desktop.

"You're not here to talk about slaves. What do you want, Tygra?" Lion-O asked.

"What do I want? Oh, I could fill a book with what I want, little brother. But unlike you, I am not interested in wasting time, so I will focus on what I want from you," Tygra said. There was no more playfulness in his voice. Lion-O pushed his chair back to better face him, but remained seated.

"You know, I was actually happy you were scaring your slave with an interest in girls. After that display today I thought maybe, just maybe, you were only behaving like a tomcat, if not a proper cat to make you late," Tygra said.

"Wow, so your dream for me is Kit's nightmare? Who knew?" Lion-O joked.

"This was the first time you ever held the Sword of Omens, Lion-O. For all the privacy it is a big deal, and it will be talked about. Being late was disgraceful; it's as good as saying your duty is a secondary concern to whatever you were doing.

"Your slave showed more concern. They are already saying that, and they will keep saying that," Tygra explained.

"I'm not arguing I messed up there-" Lion-O tried to cut in. Tygra did not let him.

"Enough people doubt your fitness to be king. This stunt gave them another reason. And it could have laid so much to rest.

"The sword accepted you, Lion-O. The lightning came when you called and the seal glowed in response to a king. Even father was pleased, until you made a mockery of it," Tygra ground out. Lion-O got up from the chair; Tygra did not change his position.

"Weren't you just saying you preferred me to be chasing tammys?" Lion-O said.

"Father isn't pleased at the thought of a son of his being a tomcat. But that's only because that kind of scandal is acceptable; I saw a silver lining.

"Cats shake their heads at a young cat neglecting his duty for the chase. But they also half expect it. Especially with the elites – the ladies do not mind the thought of the likes of us chasing them," Tygra said. For a moment, he gave a wink, and Lion-O gave a smile in return at the thought they were brothers sharing a common enjoyable vanity. It passed quickly.

"But instead you're still chasing mythical tech," Tygra said, snatching the new item from the desk. Lion-O bit back an objection as his brother looked at it like it was something foul peeled off his foot.

"This isn't scandalous, this is just embarrassing. When kittens collect junk and call it tech, parents humor them. Same as playing warrior with sticks or magic with, whatever, they think. It's just something they will grow out of like believing ghost stories of Mumm-Ra," Tygra said.

"Plenty of cats believe in Mumm-Ra, brother," Lion-O pointed out.

"Peasants with no education and backwater cats who think the next mountain over has ancient monsters hiding behind every tree. Thundera is better than that, and it expects its royalty to be better," Tygra declared.

"What do you want?" Lion-O demanded. He tried to snatch the artifact back, and growled when his brother effortlessly pulled it away without even shifting his feet.

"For you to grow up. Father backs you despite all the whispers. When you mess up like this, it makes him look like a fool in front of the kingdom. It's time you stopped obsessing over junk and started acting like a real cat," Tygra declared. He smacked the tech back onto the desk.

Lion-O glared at the abuse of his property before looking to his angry brother.

"If that means being like you, adopted brother, I may have to pass," Lion-O said to Tygra's face. He was happy to see the look of shock in Tygra's eyes, before teeth were bared in a deep-throated growl. Lion-O shifted his footing, ready to fall into a stance.

Then Tygra's teeth were hidden again, and the older prince's posture forcefully relaxed. He gave Lion-O an empty smile.

"No, little brother. If pounding sense into you worked, Grune and Panthro would have made progress years ago. Besides, I would not want Father to have to deal with both of his sons disappointing him in one day.

"Now, how about you use those brains you brag about and think about what I said. I think you know I'm right. Just trying to look out for my foolish little brother here, you know?" Tygra said. He let himself out without asking to leave, just as he had entered without so much as a knock.

Still, the anger dissipated quickly, to Lion-O's disappointment. He looked to his desk and saw not only the current piece, but all the other specimens that had passed under his claws over the years.

"I know there is something there," he said.

'But can I blame them for being like this when I still have nothing to prove them wrong?' he thought.

He found his empty chambers were not appealing at the moment, and Kit would be a long time getting back. Few cats seemed to like bathing like that one.

Unbidden, the face came to his mind. Diseased, even rotting, flesh hanging limply, white fangs in neat rows upon a maw of a mouth. It was like a cave, with the certainty something horrifying lurked within. But most of all, those eyes. Red, glowing with more hate than he had ever imagined.

What was that? Some vision from the sword, a rejection of him? The sword expressing its feelings in images? A simple "no" would suffice.

But that didn't feel right. He regretted not saying anything, but come on, like seeing things in the blade would get anything but rolled eyes. Probably just add another entry into the Crazy Prince Lion-O story: Oh why can't he be like his brother?

He went to the door; time to leave the room and such thoughts behind. Focus on other matters. Like, Cheetara.

**XXX**

'It is an ill thing when you look upon the past with greater pleasure than the future,' so had written one of the scholars of Thundera, Claudus could not remember which. His torch's warmth was welcome against the chill of the mountain.

It was odd that this chill would exist here as much as the boneyards of the Lizards he had led armies through so many times. The "desecration" nearly always inspired their greatest foes to make foolish mistakes.

But the Halls of the Dead held no remains; Thundera was not so savage as to revere bones. They did not even retain ashes in vessels like the Dogs. These statues stood for memory against the passage of time, to guard over the discarded vessels of the departed.

He could have found it without the light, but he wanted to see it as well. Lifting the torch, he stopped, standing before the life-size likeness in its alcove. Forever garbed in her finest dress, fashioned of the same stone as the face. But unlike the real thing, even if he could lift the dress it would just be stone beneath, not the soft fur and warm flesh heavy with that unforgettable scent.

"Leona, I am failing," he said to his wife's memorial.

It had been a triumph of sculpting. The artist had not needed to be commissioned; that old cat had adored his lovely patron, sharing Thundera's grief at her passing. The sculptor had begun his work supposedly an hour after word of her passing was proclaimed, tears falling upon uncut stone.

But it was still hard for Claudus to look upon. In the stone was captured every detail one could hope for with chisel and hammer. But those tools could not capture her warmth, how very she loved anything she did.

Not like an eager kitten, full of energy, but rather a weight. As if every act she did was done somehow more than any other cat could think to do it. He could no longer remember the moment he had decided she was the one that would be his queen.

At Lion-O's age, he had dueled his own father to first blood for the right to choose his own bride. His father had seen his only cousin a poor choice of all the lionesses.

She wasn't even a true cousin, but simply the closest living scion to the royal line. All lions had Leo's prized blood in them to some degree, but for most the claim was so old as to be nearly mythical, from the days before the kings of Thundera began to conserve the sacred blood, fearing its dilution.

A foolish move, Claudus could admit in private. Where other lines had twin and triplet litters as the normal outcome, the royalty had become a line of single births. He, like Lion-O, was the only son of the blood in his generation.

Sterility, poor health, miscarriage… his father had sought to break tradition by wedding his son further afield. But Claudus had wanted only one lioness, and he had won her through fury and steel, as he had most things in his reign.

Yet victory, he had come to see, often failed to win you what you wanted.

Leona had been a fine wife, but as Queen, she had been too kind and too quick to indulge. Too given to romantic ideas of governance and the world. And unable to bear him a child, and despite his love, those failures had reached and tormented her.

The King remembered her asking once, if he waged war so persistently because he did not want to return to her. A falsehood, but would it have been better to tell her the kingdom she loved was held together through blood and claw?

He was certain that was why she had latched on so hard to Tygra, his distance and disappointment. Still, he should have intervened …

He had stood listening outside the nursery as she told Tygra that story again. One of his favorites, right up there with ThunderCat stories. The tale of the king and queen who had no son to continue their sacred line. How the queen prayed to the Great Sky Cat to grant her a son for her husband the noble king.

And one day on a hunt they had found a cub in a strange basket in the forest. No tracks led to it but their own, and the forest canopy was broken above where the babe rested. So the queen had known her prayers had been answered. A destined child sent to bring a new era to the kingdom with a new bloodline to succeed the old, as a father does a son.

He had thought it an ill thing, to tell a child a story with itself as the hero. Too many grown cats were overly fond of songs about themselves, even if they had been noble before it was sung. Leona had laughed at his concerns, and made him feel silly and overly worried.

After all, it was just another way of preparing their son to be king, she had said time and again.

How could she have foreseen a second miracle? She had hoped for a girl, to his displeasure. Not because he wanted another son so badly, but she believed it would be "perfect" to wed a lion queen to the future tiger king, the new line ruling while the old line would live on still.

Foolishness; it was not a mortal's place to wish such things so sincerely. And it had left her in fear when Lion-O was born onto that bloodstained bed.

Had she realized then the tragedy that might come of the paper crowns placed by her on a kitten's head? In that moment when her nurses helped her hold the future king?

He had not asked. When Jaga himself told Claudus to prepare for the parting, grief had taken much of his sense. She had asked him to take care of their sons.

And he was failing.

Claudus had hoped rivalry would draw out a warrior in Lion-O. With Tygra, there had been no challenge, he had every sign of greatness in him. The ease of charisma even as a child, his energy and courage. It had seemed he needed only be presented with the obstacle and he would begin making progress in overcoming it.

Tygra had not prepared him for Lion-O. And he had likely failed first in turning to the like of Jaga and the generals to fill his inadequacies and absences. But he was also a king; he could not have neglected the kingdom, even for his heir.

"Our son will be a great king. But I do not know how to guide him there.

"I had hoped Tygra could be the great warrior Lion-O won't be. The king not needing to be a master of war because of the strong right hand that he has in his brother. But their differences, they are not complimenting each other. They are dividing them.

"If the gap becomes an abyss, all of Thundera is imperiled. The sword is only one weapon, however great. It cannot hold up our kingdom unless it is held by the hands of a strong king. If only Panthro and Grune…

"Would you have known what to do, Leona?"

'Sky Cat have mercy. Would you still have favored Tygra over even your own blood?' he wondered. Tygra had been jealous of the pregnancy, but with her talk of daughters, Claudus had wondered if her assurance to the tiger were not just comforting words.

'You will always be my tiger king,' the words carried so clearly he looked to the statue's face again in alarm.

Nothing, only dead cut stone. Of course.

There was still time, he was not yet truly old. Before he left this world, he would find a way to forge the bond needed between his two stubborn sons. Brooding with memories of the dead, however, would not aid that.

The answers would be found among the living, not the dead. Hmm, did a scholar write that, or was it just good sense, the King wondered.

Emerging back into the night, he didn't manage to suppress a shiver. Strangely for summer, a very cold wind was blowing in. Peasants would call it an omen of dark days, he recalled. A king had to be above such, many things portended trouble and a bit of odd weather was not one of them.

_Thundera, Military Frontier:_

A guard paced his route atop the walls of the fortress. Perched on high ground dominating the Campaign Road, the stone structure with its two tall curtain walls stood as a grand deterrent to any invader. And a staging ground to aid any raids into enemy territory.

All of which mattered little to the shivering, scrawny panther walking atop the outer wall. The bright moon slipped in and out of the scattered cloud cover. The landscape he was meant to keep a wary eye on was moving at an annoying pace from being tinted black to bathed in the moonlight.

So many other races needed torches to see well by night; their night-vision was another sign of the Cats' supremacy, the young soldier thought, his old lessons lazily rising to the front.

He had expected something more exciting when enlisting. With no battle pay, he might serve his stint and come out no better than if he had stayed working the fields.

And this wind… it was unseasonal, and the darkness seemed deeper somehow to the east. Not a storm, he knew what a storm looked like.

Yes, it all came down to wishing more than usual he was not on duty.

Pausing in his progress, he squinted down the road. Was that something?

Movement? Yes, what then? Big, caravan? From that direction?

He pulled the horn from his belt and gave a blow. The horn sounded deep and loud, the fortress springing to life before the sound had faded.

XXX

The riders came down the road, the commander leading them on an armored mount. Spears held ready as they approached, kicking their steeds from trot into gallop, making from the road to surround the caravan at an ambush point.

A slave pulled caravan? Lizards with their backs bent into the pulling of the five carts, and figures on foot around them, wearing hooded cloaks against this wind. He watched one whip a lizard across the back alongside the lead wagon.

Traders? Well, if they had proper papers, all to the good. If not, these dogs would see the penalty of entering a cat's lair without permission. The commander grinned, assessing the wagons and the goods likely within. The squad galloped up the path's cut, so as to make it seem to the outsider like they were scaling the sharp incline with ease.

He and three others took the road before the caravan, rearing up their mounts. Setting his horse as the caravan halted, he looked to the squad, spears raised and held at ready to tear the intruders apart with their feline strength. And survivors of that would feel claw and sword in short order.

All was as it should be. He turned his attention back to the strangers.

"Who would dare try and enter Thundera under cover of darkness?! Be warned, ill-chosen words could well be your last!" the commander shouted. The wind shifted as if in answer to the words, letting him catch the scent of those before him.

"What?" he muttered. His men were not shaken from their positions as he frowned at the inconvenient revelations.

"Cats, identify yourselves!" he demanded, drawing his sword. A massive cloaked figure rose from his spot sitting atop the lead wagon. The commander gulped; it had been a bit since he had met a cat larger than him. And he could see this one had nothing resembling a gut.

"Has it been so many years I must introduce myself to a fat cat whose growl is worse than his fangs to get respect?" a gruff voice carried clearly and easily over the road.

The cat threw back his hood, and the moon broke through the clouds revealing his mane and face, the light gleaming off a single saber fang and catching in golden eyes. More than one spear clattered to the ground.

More fangs were revealed as a grin spread across the great cat's face.

"What? Six years and not so much as a 'welcome back'? You cats should feel honored you get to bear witness to the beginning of a new era!" he laughed. The other figures joined in pulling down their hoods, revealing the gaunt but strong visages of eight more cats. One of the guards attending the commander found the words.

"Welcome back, General Grune."

XXX

The wind whipped through the King's mane, the feel of saddle and equose beneath him; Claudus was pleased the thrill of the ride had not diminished like so much. Their pace was slow now, measured for the trip, however short.

In his younger days, Claudus knew he would have wasted speed on the mere thrill; glancing to his sons, he knew they were thinking much the same thing. Perhaps Lion-O more so than Tygra, the son of his blood was a fine rider. A race upon equoses was one of the only contests of the field where the brothers' rivalry was nearly even.

Even the presence of the two clerics and the squad of soldiers could not detract from the simple rightness of riding with his sons. It had been too long since they hunted, allowing the roles of royalty to dwindle some and be cats living off the land and prey with the simple glories of the chase and the kill to bind the pride together.

But just as even such sport could only diminish and not dismiss their status, duty prevented him from indulging himself or his family such.

Or it had, how might things change now?

He reached into the pouch at his belt and pulled out the medal. Silver cast into the shape of an open book. Thirty such medals had been forged, and given to thirty noble cats set forth on a sacred quest.

No message had been sent with it, save that they would meet him on the Royal Highway.

'Panthro, Grune, after all these years,' he thought. Thundera's mightiest warriors, he had never dared dismiss them as dead, but six years without even a ghost of a rumor… He knew many had come to fear the lands beyond the mountains and the Desolation, certain the legendary Generals lay dead somewhere in those strange lands.

But now at least one of the Thirty was back. Surely only one of the Generals would be so bold as to summon him like this? But perhaps any cat would be so bold… if they returned with the Book of Omens?

His sons had still been kits, Tygra only truly starting to grow into duties under Grune's tutelage. Claudus had often regretted ending Panthro's tutelage of Lion-O in the name of the Quest. Perhaps Panthro would have been the cat to set Lion-O on the right path to unlocking that potential.

True, that student-teacher bond had never been as strong as between Grune and Tygra, but perhaps that had been for the best? Tygra, with his talent, had needed encouragement and direction. As for Lion-O, well, Panthro had faced a… more difficult task, and the panther had never possessed the easy charm of the sabertooth.

'To have those two back, a blessing with or without the Book,' Claudus thought.

He spotted the caravan, peaking the top of the hill, lizard slaves pulling in teams. Not as good as an equose team, but cheaper. He recalled his discomfit when his tutors had told him such practices were also a benefit, as using slaves like this kept them too exhausted to effectively rebel when traveling away from civilization. The Lizard Wars had taught Claudus well to never grant an enemy a chance to strike if you could help it.

He kicked his mount into a gallop, and heard the others do likewise. He noted Wilykit yowling in distress. The young slave was sharing a mount with a guard, her first journey as a rider. Her presence was not necessary, but this was a historic moment; it seemed appropriate cats of many castes be present to witness it.

The caravan stopped, awaiting them as they reached the top of the hill.

The lizards slumped in their chains, breathing hard amidst the dust and sun. Claudus looked over faces of cats recalled from the departure celebrations and ceremonies to honor their bravery that had over the years showed their worth.

He spotted the cat he wanted standing atop the lead wagon, already grinning and wearing scarred but solid plate armor, his great mace strapped to his back.

"Claudus, my king. It has been a long time!" General Grune shouted, striking his fist over his heart in salute. Claudus returned his smile, and the salute.

"Grune!" Tygra called in undiluted excitement. The sabretooth looked on the prince with clearly mock surprise, as if he had not already realized who he was.

"Well, greetings, young warrior. But I must admit I was hoping to see my student here to greet me. A certain tiger lad of promise, but instead I see a warrior who clearly already stands as an elite amongst elites.

"HAHAHAHA!" Grune laughed, stepping down from the wagon. The royal party shared in his mirth dismounting. General and king met halfway, embracing each other as battle forged friends.

"And where is Panthro?" Claudus asked, pulling out of the embrace. He glanced past Grune, expecting to see the gruff panther coming up from guarding the rear.

Grune closed his eyes and inclined his head.

The lump of ice fell squarely into Caludus' stomach. He had lived with this possibility, and endured much loss. But still. Grune reached into a pouch and went to one knee before his king.

He held up Panthro's nunchuks. A rare weapon, and styled in the image of the Sky Cat, per the traditions of the Pantheran shrines. Raised to the mysteries of the clerics, Claudus had received only polite education on the sects of his people, and hardly any of it on those who revered the so-called teachings of Leo's Queen.

Masters of the sect who chose a warrior's vocation adorned their weapons with the Sky Cat's image as a commitment to one of their core tenants. To not pray for aid, but instead to be God's instrument by which prayers are answered, and divine wrath unleashed.

The three of them had drunk and made merry when Panthro had received his topknot signifying his mastery, and received this anointed weapon. Scarred and battered now with years of heroic service, the weapon was more beautiful than it had been that night.

Claudus took it delicately; it seemed far too light in his claws.

"He fought bravely. You should have seen him. It was through his sacrifice that we nine could live to return to Thundera," Grune said somberly.

"…The Book?" Claudus asked. It felt wrong to ask, but Panthro would have focused on the mission. To do otherwise would be an act of disrespect.

"Five years we searched. Following signs from the old scrolls and rumor after rumor. We encountered all manner of wonder and horror, our numbers dwindling. Panthro's will was iron, but when we met a foe even he could not overcome…

"It took us a year to make our way back, my king, with these spoils as both proof of what we have seen, and a token of deepest apology for our failure. Without Panthro, we could not see the Quest succeeding, the best we could do was return so at least others might learn from our travels and losses," Grune reported.

"Rise, my faithful General, one never needs to apologize for giving all one has for Thundera.

"Come, let us return to the capital. We shall prepare to welcome back the living, and honor the dead with the appropriate spectacle, but for now we will host our returned heroes," Claudus assured the sabretooth.

Grune smiled and gave a small cough.

"Your pardon sire, riding in these wagons one does not outrun the dust of the road well-traveled," Grune remarked.

"Kit, a drink for the General," Claudus called. Wilykit swung down from the equose she was sharing and pulled the bag on her back off. She withdrew the small steel tray and set a trio of matching goblets on it. Pulling out a small bottle well wrapped in reeds into her free hand, she walked up to the great cats.

Grune raised an eyebrow looking the fourteen-year-old Feralli over as she dislodged the cork with her thumb claw. His eyes settled on the golden collar on her neck.

"Relaxed some of those stances while I was gone?" Grune asked, while Kit filled the goblets.

"Wilykit is a special exception; Lion-O's personal slave," Claudus told him.

"Ha! Well, I suppose if anyone needed one," Grune laughed, taking the first filled goblet. Claudus took up the next one and looked at the remainder. He had her bring three in anticipation of Panthro; foolish of her to not just leave it in the bag. The way she wilted under his look showed she realized this too.

"Panthro would not want good wine to go to waste. Come over here Tygra, join us in the first toast to Panthro," Grune declared, beckoning to the tiger. Tygra grinned, before leaping from his mount, leaving his brother to stand with the King and General.

Wilykit tucked the tray under her arm when Tygra took the final goblet and backed away eight steps like she was trained for such a situation. Far enough to not impose, but not too far to quickly serve.

"To Thundera's great Generals!" Tygra declared, raising his goblet.

"To the brave living and the honorable fallen," King Claudus said.

"To the future built by the sacrifice of a great cat!" Grune finished. All three drank deeply on the dusty highway in the sight of cats, slaves and kin.

**XXX**

The banquet was a modest ad impromptu affair, but Grune was being honest when he said it was quite sufficient. It really was the little things you missed, he thought, savoring some fine purple grapes.

Thankfully no one served him raisins. He could never abide by those shriveled up, ruined grapes.

It was nostalgic to sit in this banquet hall, the feast attended by the elite warriors currently residing in the city, and those state officials that were of rank enough to enter on virtue of their office.

With Lion-O absent, having yet to shed blood in battle, it allowed Grune to be conceded the place of honor by Tygra. It felt good, being here, admired and adored by these other cats for his feats and strength.

A shame to sacrifice most everything he had spent years building. But he would come out as King of Cats, and perhaps even greater prizes could be seized by the clever and the bold in the turbulent times to come.

Jaga was not here either, thankfully. He had never liked the old conjuror. The Rat Bane, they called him in the Wild Lands. The savages had often never heard of Grune the Mace, but Jaga was a legend to all, and a curse to Rats wherever that breed of vermin nested.

Yet Jaga had never demanded proper tribute; Ratilla was more a rumor than history to the people of Thundera. It only affirmed the man was dangerous, as those who truly bought into spirituality could be. Those who follow no rational motive of self-advancement and self-interest.

Grune had moments where he felt that for as incomprehensible as the jaguar could be to him, behind that wrinkled visage, Jaga comprehended him completely.

But no Jaga to worry about right now, and no scrawny lion cub under foot. Only the kind of cats all too eager to celebrate a cat that embodied what had built the empire of Thundera.

He smirked, recalling the familiar mosaic of Leo and his ThunderCats, with Leo's queen Panthera by his side. If only they knew their great heroic savior was a runt like Lion-O rather than a large heroic alpha lion.

Heh, Panthera had been at least three heads over Leo, judging by the images he had been shown. She had looked like just the kind of cat Grune would charm into his bed before leaving her on the doorstep in the morning. The strong, smart ones were the most satisfying to seduce and leave. And it never hurt your reputation, because a cat's pride would ensure they never admitted to being shamed so.

Yes, he expected the impressive stature of the dynasty came from her. And the Old One suspected her of being the one to convince Leo to rebel.

Ha, more like it was a Panther King and a Lion Queen! Grune had always known the supremacy of the lions was a sham. Such a shame Panthro had not lived to see the Queen he respected so, validated as the true warrior forger of the empire.

Ripping off a leg of poultry, Grune looked over likely prospects. He recognized one. A puma who kept stealing glances at him. Pumyra, yes, a promising warrior according to Claudus. A hick by birth, still dressed like a barbarian.

She was interested, of course she was! But leery. Partly his age, and perhaps also guessing that a powerful cat would not be dominated, but would dominate.

Ah, that would be a fine hunt! But there was no time. Just like going easy on the wine, Grune would have to limit himself to purchased companions of the evening. There was no time to give seduction the proper focus, and she would likely die in eleven days anyway.

A shame, but worth it.

**XXX**

Grune hated the slums, and he was certain they had only grown larger since his departure. Apparently Claudus had not been able to curb the consequences of the increased slave labor since victory in the Lizard War, after all.

The place reeked of weakness; this was the fate of those who failed to master and harness the system, as he had.

But there was a hierarchy here – beyond the wretches, there were predators. And he required their services to ensure an empire's swift collapse.

Much had been prepared already, plans hatched and set in motion long before he revealed himself to Thundera. But some pacts could only be truly sealed face-to-face, cat-to-cat.

And so here he was, walking cloaked through the filth to meet the Boss of the Slums, El-Dara.

The name tickled something in Grune's memory, but he could not place it. A scrub out solder from the old days, maybe? It wouldn't be the first soldier who turned to leg breaking after discharge, honorable or otherwise.

Getting out of the palace had been simple. The guards had been all too happy when he implied without saying he wished to visit the Red Lantern District. Claudus was a bit of a prude, so they thought nothing of him wanting some discretion as well as some company. And they would keep quiet for a while, feeling awed a living legend had asked them to have his back.

The General had cut through the district, just to shake any tail Jaga may have placed. He was too close and too deep to take foolish chances.

Though the hardest part had been to find the right whiskering tavern!

As if summoned by his indignation, the next turn revealed the door sign displaying three silver coins over an overflowing tankard.

"At last," Grune rumbled. When he pushed on the door, he discovered it was bolted, quite securely too, he judged. A slot opened, revealing two pale cat eyes.

"Password?" the lower cat asked.

"The Ancient One demands," Grune answered.

"The Forsaken answer," the cat supplied the response. The slot closed, and the door opened, spilling light onto the street before Grune's bulk filled the doorway.

He scowled at the odor of the place as the doorcat secured the entrance anew: cheap sour drinks, vomit, urine, and worse.

Looking around, he saw plenty of explanation – it was a Feralli bar. The lower cats leaned against walls or huddled at tables in near rags, only about one in five of the males being properly dressed. And of course, an overabundance of kits under tables watching and sneaking from shadow to shadow.

Filthy vagrants only good for manual labor a slave could do better, or cutting purses. The perfect malcontents to groom for high treason, he admitted.

He made his way to the second level, hood still raised to provide some concealment. The smaller cats made way without him having to do a thing. A female with three claw scars on her face blocked the top of the stairs, sitting, shamelessly nursing a brat, before being pulled up by her ears by a monkey of all things.

The mother hissed at the monkey as her kit cried. The monkey just barred his large teeth and opened his eyes very wide. Her fur went back down and she scurried back to her kind. The monkey, his dark grey fur partly covered by leather armor, turned his pale eyes on Grune. He crossed his arms, grinning.

Grune broke him down as a tricky fighter; he had a whip coiled around his left forearm. Hmm, an effective weapon when mastered, but not good for killing. Knives concealed on his person?

"The hero appears! Come now, El-Dara awaits you at the table," the monkey laughed as his kind was wont to. Few animals were as disquieting, amusing, and sadistic as the lower apes. It was fortunate the great apes were passive for the most part, Grune admitted. They would still not be worth fearing, but it made things easier.

He reached the table, it's singular status declared by the wide berth everyone gave it in the crowded space. A Feralli youth sat on the table, sampling from a large pile of skewered meat on the platter. Gutsy or stupid kit, Grune thought. His attention quickly shifted to the massive figure seated at the table.

The dog he saw would be at least a head taller than him standing. The sleeveless tan jacket revealed some of the thickest arms Grune had ever seen. The thick torso and neck were deep old muscle, a challenge in purely physical contest, Grune guessed.

The dog had a blunt, jowled face. It did not look good with his reddish brown fur, and the floppy ears reminded Grune of dried meat. The black beady eyes watched him intently as the dog plucked a skewer of meat with surprising delicacy.

'Well, I suppose it takes more than a brute to master the slums. Why did no one mention it was a dog?' Grune wondered. Even Feralli, he thought, had more pride than that.

Grune stepped up to the table and planted a hand on it.

"Evening, El-Dara is it? You know why I am here. So what's say we get to finalizing an era's end? Though first, perhaps you can tell me how a dog becomes boss of the slums of Thundera City?" Grune asked.

The dog ripped a chunk of meat off the skewer and seemed to consider his words while chewing. He swallowed before finally speaking.

"Red," the dog said.

"…Excuse me?" Grune asked. Behind him, the monkey laughed, clapping his hands and even hooting.

"Red is a dog of few words. Well, one word, actually," the young Feralli on the table snickered.

"Red?" the big dog asked, looking to the teen.

"Just stay alert, big guy," the Feralli said.

"Red," the dog answered, resuming his meal.

Grune took a moment, and realized that beneath the ragged cloak, the boy was wearing good quality – if not fancy – clothes. The General glanced around at the cats and the monkey watching the scene, following their attention.

"You… you are El-Dara?" Grune asked the young cat; he couldn't be more than fourteen.

"Very good! I guess that General rank really does mean something," the boy snickered, tail swinging behind him. The boy got up to stand on the table, which put him at eye level with Grune.

"Name's Kat, but that's not the kind of name that gets noted. So I lifted one from a story," Kat said, crossing scrawny arms over his thin chest.

"…The city of treasure," Grune muttered. Yes, he recalled that story now. He hadn't thought of those old books in years. Hadn't heard that tale since his mother died way back when.

"Right, there is always treasure to be gotten from cities, and Thundera is the ripest fruit, if the most dangerous one to pick," Kat said. At a snap of his fingers, a Feralli serving girl that might have been old enough to be his mother came forward and gave the young cat a bottle of wine.

The deference to this boy, it was strange.

"Care to tell me how a young cat like you ends up running the slums of Thundera with no one outside seeming to know your age?" Grune asked.

"…No.

"Now, you have promised me big things, General, and we are quite pleased those toys you sent us worked as described. But there are certain details we need clarified for such a high-risk venture.

"In particular – while it's understood this venture will cost us a number of long term assets, there are certain assets and persons whose security must be ensured," Kat stated. Uncorking the bottle of wine, the young boss took a swig of the contents, before offering it to Grune. Grune noted the gesture of the younger cat taking the first drink.

"Well, any soldier could tell you that once the battle starts, things can take unexpected turns, despite planning. What if I tell you this is too far along and you need to suck it up about these assets?" Grune asked.

"Then you disappear without a trace. We use that tech you provided to pad our pouches, and then skip town and see how matters turn out," El-Dara said casually. Grune glanced at the sound of the monkey snickering, and saw it was grinding a pair of curved daggers while staring at him. Not to mention the big dog and all the Feralli.

He would still favor himself, but needless risks were just that. Needless.

"Now, now, there is no need for threats between friends. Just so long as you understand that failure, if it happens, is merely the misfortune of war and not a break of good faith," Grune said. The young Feralli smiled, and the monkey sighed sheathing the daggers.

"Well, General. It so happens there is only one true deal breaker I require your guarantee on. In fact, you are in an excellent position to ensure its security.

"Which is why you will be informed what it is later, shortly before the Ancient One makes his move," Kat said.

"What, don't you trust me?" Grune asked, finally taking the bottle.

"Not even a little," the boy said with a smile. Grune laughed at the answer and grabbed one of the meat skewers from the dog's plate.

"Kat, I think we will work together just fine," Grune told him.

* * *

><p><strong>In Memory of<strong>

**Calico**

**1994-10/03/2014**

_"Our Top Cat"_

AN: Thank you for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Thundercats 2011

_Betaed by:_ Zim'sMostLoyalServant & Trackula

* * *

><p><strong>Collar<strong>

Chapter III

_Rivals and Ambitions_

The Temple of the Guardians, often simply called the Temple. Not the oldest holy site of the Cats, but the most beautiful and intricate. And also the most hallowed – only Clerics and initiates could set foot within. No servants, no slaves; the Clerics maintained it themselves. Even a King only entered with certain limitations.

The meditation chamber blazed, the mirrors beneath the skylight heating the air.

Cheetara sat clad in her order's finery save for veil and helm. She sweated, her throat was parched; noon was passing and she had been seated in the position on this spot since sunrise.

The Seal of the ThunderCats, red and black, was painted around her. It retained the heat, amplified it. Her robes, the clothes beneath them, and her fur were drenched; she could imagine the sweat puddiling around her.

Clerics never sweat, because they were trained to withstand the heat of the light.

She knew other sects preferred darkness' serenity for the search into self, but Clerics swore by the light and trusted little in darkness.

As a child, this rite would have forced her into submission; it had so often that she had seen it as a punishment. It had not been until she had seen Jaga undergo it, and not be the least out of sorts afterward, that she realized they had told her the truth.

'What am I meant to see?' she asked yet again of the light.

Her mind's eye slipped open without her quite noticing; the thirst was great upon her.

It had been hot then, the shack in the mountains, unseasonable. She had been ranging beyond her bounds thoughtlessly, risking discovery by Sabres. Cheetara had been so fast she had thought without doubt she could outrun any trouble.

She had come home to death. No murder, no warning, only the emptiness of the only other cat she had truly ever known.

The kitten she had been had no words for a funeral, so burial was followed by an awkward farewell. It was odd; she had never entertained simply staying there. She could have lived well there, peacefully isolated, the work of survival distracting and filling her days and giving her restful nights. It had been what her mother had wanted for her.

So many warnings about other cats, other animals, to only have contact when absolutely needed.

Cheetara had seen death as releasing her from such plans. She had set out into the world.

And learned quickly of its casual cruelty.

She had been arrogant, and pain had made her proud. It was the way of most cats, to place yourself against the world when it pressed on you. She never contemplated retreat. To go back and admit she was wrong. Or admit that beneath the pride she feared she would go up that mountain and never come back down. That she would never have anyone else in her life ever.

In the end an act of grace, and an act of mercy, had saved her from dark fates.

She opened her eyes, the light blinding her. A figure stepped up, his shadow relieving her eyes and much of the heat.

"Master Jaga," she rasped, greeting the elderly jaguar. He looked like an avatar of the Sky Cat, framed in brilliant light, unaffected by the oven they were in.

"Young Cheetara, what have you seen?" he asked kindly.

"My past again. My pain and blindness. My journey to the Guardians," she reported. Her throat was parched, but she did not let it hinder her.

"You are troubled," he noted.

"Yes, a sense of dread pervades the vision. But why? My story ends well, I found my home," she told him.

"Oh, my child, your story is far from over. Now go, there is nothing more you can learn beneath this light," the Jaguar commanded. Cheetara pulled herself slowly to her feet and realized the elder was gone before she had thought to question his statement.

'Water first. A cleric is many things. Invincible is not one of them,' Cheetara reminded herself.

XXX

Lion-O had expected his brother. He knew there would be repercussions to what he did. He had not considered that before acting; was it bad he was glad for that? It may have been a mistake, may have, but he was certain it was not wrong. Had he had time to consider, as Jaga taught, he may have done something smart and be regretting it now.

'Try saying that out loud and making sense,' he had thought.

When it was his father who entered his main chamber, he had the wind slack in his sails. He was grateful to be reading a book rather than bent over examining that new tech again. The book was an analysis of the distant history of Thundera, somewhat controversial in trying to peel through legend to discern historic truth.

It was one of the few serious literary works to discuss technology as anything more than fantasy. But his father could at least assume he was reading about the many other subjects in the book.

"Father," Lion-O greeted, getting to his feet.

"My son," Claudus said. He waved Lion-O back into his desk chair, and grabbed a chair by the door and set it over by the desk taking a seat.

Well, at least it looked like they were not just going to be speaking as King and Prince.

"I heard about what happened with Grune. It was poorly done," Claudus said. Lion-O looked the question at him.

"Both. You and Grune both behaved poorly," Claudus clarified, looking displeased with having to do so.

Lion-O frowned and closed his book again.

"WilyKit was doing nothing wrong. Mumm-Ra was mentioned, and she did that evil dispelling thing some clans do. It was nothing. Grune said it again just to see her do it. And a third time.

"Mumm-Ra is a much bigger deal to the Feralli, we both know that. They don't see him as the ancient enemy vanquished, they believe he sleeps and stirs at the mere mention of his name. It may be silly, but Grune should not have…

"She tried to excuse herself, he grabbed her tail," Lion-O growled.

"Yes, and laughed and called her a scaredy-wagger when she jumped. I understand it wasn't even a tug, just a pluck. Enough for her to feel it," Claudus finished.

"Everyone was laughing at her, he humiliated her for no reason," Lion-O growled.

"And you hit a General," Claudus remarked. Were he not so intense on recalling the event, Lion-O may have noted an odd rare note in his father's voice at that statement.

"Well, I know it wouldn't have worked if he had been expecting it," Lion-O admitted, flexing his right hand. He could still recall the tingle lingering long after punching that amused Sabre in the cheek.

He would never forget the small stumble as the General recoiled from the hit but quickly regained his center. The look of stunned confusion on the snaggletoothed face, as if a hippomantus had fallen from the sky to deliver the blow instead. Lion-O knew that his amusement must have shown through, because for a moment, just a moment, that smug face he recalled so well and had been seeing again had changed utterly.

He had been certain in a moment of primal fear that the large Sabretooth was about to attack him lethally. But the moment passed, giving way to Grune's laughter.

He must have been quite a sight, everyone else seeing the Prince freeze as if in shock from his own audacious act.

"Well, I suppose a slave is the only bed company you can manage for the moment. My apologies for so infringing, my Prince. No need to worry, I prefer larger, and tailless," the General had laughed, and everyone had joined in.

The only silver lining was that Kit had slipped off at some point.

"Grune is from the provinces, and of overseer linage. Being a Sabre does not help, either. He is better than most, but he was not raised to refinement. Sometimes, that common crudeness shows through. It's not like the polite upbringing you and Tygra received. It's not quite fair to judge him by your standard," Claudus said.

"So he was wrong, but it's not his fault?" Lion-O asked, scowling.

"In a way. Lion-O, being King is about seeing more than black and white. The metaphor of the Sight Beyond Sight dwells on this. Grune may have behaved poorly, but he has done too much for Thundera to be treated like a common insulter off the street.

"And your striking him… Reprimand may have been seen as noble, but that was not only lacking control, but was cowardly and to most unprovoked.

"No, you did not strike him suddenly because you feared to do so properly, I know that. But rumors travel fast, and Grune is our returned hero.

"You are very fortunate he played it as a joke. Most will only see the amusement and read no deeper," Claudus said.

"So, better humiliated than thought treacherous or cowardly?

"You gave me Kit to prepare me for the crown. Father, could a King let his people be treated like Grune treated WilyKit without objecting, and still be a good King?" Lion-O asked.

"…I will speak with Grune. But I want you to consider this matter closed. The future King does not need ill will between himself and the kingdom's greatest General," Claudus said, getting to his feet.

At the door he paused, looking back.

"One more thing. Is it true you made Grune stumble back?" Claudus asked. Meeting his eyes, Lion-O nodded.

A small smile appeared on that scarred face, and then he was passing through the doorway. Lion-O slumped in his chair, alone again.

"That… went better than expected," He admitted. He wondered if he should have mentioned that look. For a moment, Grune had been a complete stranger, a very, very dangerous one. But no, he would probably get an earful of how Cats come back from wars and all.

'Worth it,' Panthro had been fond of saying that when Lion-O achieved a training goal despite injury or inelegant execution. Nothing like the praise or instruction Grune heaped on Tygra. Panthro only spoke at length on failure.

"Worth it," Lion-O said aloud. And felt what he realized might be the first true mourning for his old teacher. He had not been a friend like Grune was to Tygra, but he had been a great cat. Lion-O could not even imagine the stoic panther casually tormenting a slave.

XXX

Kit considered the tub, its ceramic blue bottom, and her own reflection. Poking her little finger into the steaming water, she smiled; it had cooled enough. Taking a moment to check the door was locked, she untied her ears and began to strip down.

She loved the smell of the bathhouse, the oils and bathing salts and the clean scent of steam and soap. Even one of the few private lower bathing chambers was a luxury.

Normally, she would have had her clothes turned in and mingled with others towel bound before joining them in the soothing waters. But her clothes did not return well, and even among her own class there was no welcome to be found. Better to bathe alone, and give them more reason to think her pretentious than have to bathe listening to their meant-to-be-heard whispers.

She sat her clothes aside, neatly folded, and stretched. Arms raised, then down on all fours, each leg raised and stretched in turn, and of course, getting up to ease her tail around a bit.

Her fur did not strictly need to be cleaned yet, but close enough. She liked to be clean in a way few of those who wanted to make her feel small understood.

They poured too-hot water in her requested bath to annoy her. WilyKit had no trouble waiting for it to cool. She had been through too much for this bullying to be more than an annoyance.

Lowering herself into the water, she kept her head and arms dry, letting her body settle. WilyKit plucked the small bottle of oil and poured it onto her head and then into the bath. A sprinkling from the soapy powder in the accompanying bag, and it was on.

She had liked bathing when it was her mother scrubbing her in a wooden tub with buckets of fire-warmed water. And it had been amusing as well as exasperating when she had in her turn helped her mother with the younger litter getting scrubbed.

But the slums had taught her that this was a dear, dear privilege, she recalled, folding her arms and slipping her head under the water.

Even as the water raised and caressed her fur, Kit's content expression twitched.

She remembered how it had felt when Kat had smeared and practically ground mud and stink into her fur.

She had whimpered in spite of his explaining why. How he had been listening to the "big guys" and put together how the brothels would hunt pretty young girls. Ferallis weren't highly regarded, but the Clan typically meant their women did not end up in brothels, so a pretty Ferallli was a rare and potential moneymaker for a cheap brothel. They did not mind using you as a slave until you were old enough for the sheets.

So Kat had taken steps to ensure she would be dismissed as a filthy stray not worth the effort to catch.

Her brother was so smart, she smiled, before emerging to breathe.

Without her holding him back, he probably made big scores and went home with plenty of money to help Mother.

She had learned to read under her father, then again as a slave. But her mother and siblings couldn't. Well, Kat could, but that meant no answer would mean…

No, she had accepted even before she learned how lucky she was, Kit would not drag her family into her trouble. Her brother would never have been able to accept a collar; he was not like her. He was a leader, like the royals, even if he had no sacred blood.

Well, Prince Tygra didn't have that either.

Or Grune, for all that he acted like a ThunderCat with all his entitlement.

Kit wished again it had been General Panthro to return. He had been born with a tail, after all.

XXX

Grune stopped on the road. The morning mist had yet to truly break up, but the manor house was visible. It was hard to believe he had once found it so grand, the days when it had seemed the pinnacle of status to be able to claim such a place. Before he had looked on Thundera, and realized what a pathetic slice of the world this truly was.

Though, yes, with the mist and morning light concealing the flaws, he could recall the majesty he had once seen in this place.

Why had he come here again? His father was long dead. He must have been invited back while in the area. Yes, the old lord no doubt wanted to put on airs to try and claim some glory for his piece of cropland producing Thundera's greatest General.

He could indulge.

The sound of water stopped the tall Sabre on the dirt-packed tract. Looking to his right, his brown eyes narrowed, looking into the vegetation.

Grune knew this spot.

Stepping off the tract, he easily made his way through the brush. It was pathetic as an obstacle now; he had hacked his way through thicker vegetation with dulled claws for hours. He reached the pond in no time.

It was, of course, smaller than he remembered, but again this predawn light and mist seemed to restore a certain feeling of potency to this tired old estate.

His old favorite spot. His refuge, his hunting ground, and of course his battlefield of countless pretend glories.

The sound came again, and this time he saw the source. A Sabre woman, big boned and tall, as was the tendency for his breed. No songs were sung of lady Sabres, only for their strapping men. She was doing laundry.

He had never heard of the women using this spot for that. But then again, he had been gone quite awhile.

"It is so difficult to get the stains out," she said. She did not get up to greet him, continuing to it at the water's edge, rising and boarding the clothes.

"Young cat, have you come to help me clean it?" she asked. Grune frowned at that, but put on a smile and laughed.

"Clearly, you have not heard. I am General Grune, the famed one-sabred warrior of Thundera," he announced, stepping forward.

"…That is not an answer to my question. Stains come so easily; wiping them away is so hard. Sometimes, it seems impossible. Will you not help me?" she asked, still bent to her task.

"Woman, are you deaf? Your dirty laundry is beneath me," Grune scowled. This encounter was drawing him into a foul mood.

"A man who betrays everything he ever claimed to fight for, even his true friend, says dirty work is beneath him. Washing could wash some of the blood off your hands, Grune.

"It may not yet be too late," she said, as she held up a piece of dripping cloth. No, it was a leather strap, with steel spikes on it.

He seized her by the neck and lifted her from the ground.

"How do you know?! How!" he snarled into her face.

"I always saw, even when I wished I could not. Please, there are other roads yet," she told him, calm and clear despite his grip on her neck.

"I have come too far to be stopped. I will be King," he growled. She looked him in the eye then, and he knew her. The General dropped her; she crumpled to the ground like empty rags, while he stumbled back.

"Is it true? Is my son lost?" his mother asked, her face staring up dry and sad as he remembered from the half-forgotten memories.

Grune's eyes snapped open and he leapt from his bed, ready for attack.

But no, looking around, he saw he was alone, his chambers in Thundera. Richly adorned, and likely doomed.

Making his way to the balcony, he watched the sun peek over the horizon. He could feel the energy in the city. The day of the Games was upon Thundera, the last revelry of an era.

Shaking off the lingering bitter tastes of the past, Grune withdrew to make ready. His era would soon begin.

XXX

Sunset had seen the festival come into full swing. Torches and bonfires lit up the great plaza, as cats of every class made merry. Booths sold all manners of food and drink, and performers entertained the masses, holding out their hats, receiving coins generously from wine-loosened purses.

There were also tables stacked high with cheap but plentiful food supplied by the royals. Like the entertainment of the Games, the festivities were a chance to show the royal family's generosity towards all cats.

WilyKit walked close behind him. She was wearing her finest red dress, and her collar was polished to even more of a shine. Glancing back, he saw her looking around fairly, her tail flicking. Still concerned someone might try and pickpocket him. According to her, events like this brought out cutpurses and the like in force.

He supposed she would know; there were times it was easy to forget his sometimes nagging personal slave had been a stray.

As if on cue from the thought, a fat cat with grey fur and a tattered grey cloak stumbled drunkenly from behind a booth.

"Thieves! I've been robbed! Lousy little Ferrali!" he slurred. Lion-O held out a hand to stop Kit. Watching the cat stamp around only to double over and vomit, Lion-O changed his route.

He found the display souring him to the festival; Kit so clearly not enjoying herself was not helping. Well, it would be time for the Games soon, he thought.

He stopped to look at a nearby pedestal, where a golden monkey statuette was displayed, surrounded by six guards. As was tradition for a victory, and a victory is how they presented this, choice bits of plunder were being displayed for the masses.

This was all supposed to be to honor the fallen in the Expedition, but Lion-O almost found that disrespectful. All anyone other than his father talked about was Panthro. His father's efforts might be noble, but the way the evening had turned out made it seem more insulting to those fallen cats, Lion-O thought. As if they only pretended to care about the others.

Lion-O wondered if Panthro would be honored by the Games? The Cat had been a great warrior, and Lion-O honestly was not sure how far his stoic nature had gone.

And that was what it came down to in missing that great cat. Lion-O had been his student for some time, but unlike Tygra and Grune, he had never truly known him, Lion-O admitted.

The sound of un-catlike cries drew him from his reflections. They had ended up by the stocks; he saw two Lizards strapped in, splattered fruit over their faces. It would be funny if one of them did not have its eyes wide in clear fear.

The laughter of the nearby kits, lower class by their look, did not help Lion-O's mood.

"Scram!" he shouted. With gasps, recognizing an aristocrat if not their prince, the kits ran off.

Lion-O walked up to the two reptiles, reading the signs that hung around their necks. 'Raiders,' he found himself regretting sending the kits running a bit.

"Mercy! Mercy, great prince!" the nearest lizard begged. He was surprised at its high tone; he had expected some rasping or hissing voice.

"Why should I show you mercy? You'd slit my throat given half a chance," Lion-O answered. WilyKit cleared her throat behind him. He was about to turn and go when the other lizard spoke up.

"Shut up. Asking mercy from a cat is like trying to squeeze water from a stone. And lions are the worst of the lot," the other lizard rasped bitterly. Lion-O frowned at that, fixing a look on the lizard.

"Quiet yourself fool! Do you want to die?!" the first lizard exclaimed. The second lizard smiled, holding the Prince's gaze as pointed teeth were revealed.

"We were dead the moment we were caught. A clean execution is probably better than toiling till our spines crack in the mines or our backs get scourged off in the fields," the bold lizard hissed.

"You sound pretty righteous for a bandit," Lion-O retorted.

"Bandit? As if I, any of us, had a choice. You cats hoard the best of everything you can grasp. And only trade what you don't want at such odds it may as well be theft.

"Our lands barely support us. A single bad crop or a blight on the herds, and villages will starve.

"Look around – the Lizard court could never eat so well in a month as what you give away.

"We kill you, we steal from you, but it's for survival. What do you kill us for? Honor, glory, sport?! You even enslave your own kind! As bad as King Slithe can be, he would never put a collar on another lizard, much less a child," the lizard spat.

Lion-O found himself at a loss as the lizard glared at him. A firm hand clapped on his shoulder. He turned to see his brother looking at him, amused.

"You're not taking the words of this criminal seriously, are you?" Tygra asked. He turned Lion-O away from the lizards, Kit stepping quickly to put herself behind the royals again.

"The Lizards' greatest crime is simply being weaker than the cats! And it's true for all animals," the bold lizard called after them.

"Enough," Tygra declared, looking back at the stocks, "Come on, it's time for the Games."

XXX

The crowd roared, the coliseum filled to bursting with cats eager for the Games to begin.

WilyKit stood between Prince Lion-O and Tygra, holding a decanter of wine, freshly replenished after serving the royal family. Another, older, slave cat was attending to the General and the two other survivors he had extended the honor of the royal box to.

Kit was glad to be here rather than out there. As much as cats packed in eagerly, she did not think she could have stood the close quarters and rowdiness. Looking over the massive crowd, she idly wondered if her brother was out there?

Of course she hoped he was home and well, but still.

She had failed to notice the King standing until the drummers out of her sight had struck their thunderous chord to command silence. King Claudus raised his gold chalice and spoke, his booming words easily carrying trough the great arena.

"These games are in honor of Panthro, and all the heroes who gave all they had for Thundera in the quest for the Book of Omens!

"Though the Book remains lost, General Grune and his mighty warriors have returned to us! They bring with them treasure, tales of glory, and word of new lands for conquest!

"But this night we honor those who have served the Pride to the final and fullest measure!

"HAIL THE FALLEN!" the King roared. The crowd repeated the praise as the others in the royal box did, draining their cups.

The King returned to his seat and let the Master of Ceremonies set the Games in motion. For now, the water arena with the Bell of Glory remained vacant in favor of the four sand rings.

The first contests were of strength and speed. Not limited to the warriors, even the most common could have auditioned for this right. Kit felt the crowd shared much of the royal box's polite disinterest.

Admirable or not, Kit had seen in the slums and the palace both that cats were most keen when the contests were violent.

While refilling the King's goblet, she heard General Grune hum in appreciation as a sword contest to first blood reached a dramatic, and rather crippling conclusion.

"It really is the little things you miss," he remarked, before taking a large bite of a well-marinated rib of casvar.

"I am pleased you are enjoying yourself," the King answered.

"Ah, after the hardiness of the quest, you could scarcely disappoint me, Your Majesty. Though I dare say I am not enjoying it nearly as much as I think young Lion-O enjoyed the she-cats' sprint," Grune chuckled. WilyKit frowned at that, recalling the Cheetahs. There had been plenty down there for that. Hopefully not that one.

"Such a shame though, such loss and no trace of the Book," Claudus said, looking to the chair occupied by General Panthro's portrait. She had been pleased to dust the work of art and drape its frame in the black of honored dead. Watching Grune devour some grapes, she yet again wondered why the great Sky Cat would bring back one and not the other.

"Perhaps, Father, it's time you give more credence to the skeptics?" Prince Tygra spoke up.

"The early histories are fractured, and veer into religion more than fact. The Book may be nothing more than legend and metaphor like Mumm-Ra-"

He paused as Kit hastily performed the two thunders and ho. She did not care if they were staring, someone had to keep the infernal eyes of the Ever Living Darkness from fluttering open!

"…and technology," Prince Tygra finished, giving her a smile she felt was not entirely nice.

"Grune, you never saw or heard anything like technology?" Lion-O asked, setting his goblet aside. He had not been drinking much, so he must have just been feeling bold.

"Ah, Lion-O. Though I came across all manner of beast, warrior, wonders, and horrors, technology is there as here. Nothing but old stories passed down to pass time around hearths," Grune answered, swirling the contents of his goblet. Kit was surprised the Sabre was not drinking more heavily; he did not seem the type to restrain himself.

"Lion-O, you should not bother him with your nonsense!" Prince Tygra admonished. The elder prince, she had refilled his goblet a few times. The earlier near blasphemy showed it was starting to tell. She caught a motion from the King and nodded. Time to switch to a more watered down decanter for Prince Tygra.

"While you're just so perfect, aren't you Tygra?" Lion-O growled.

"Why thank you, brother," Tygra smiled.

"Of course anyone can talk, fact is you haven't done anything worthy of a song yet," Lion-O followed up.

"Lion-O," Claudus started, but to Kit's distress he quieted when Grune put a hand on his shoulder.

"At least I don't waste my time chasing childish stories Father told before bedtime," Tygra growled, getting to his feet.

"At least I know who my father is," Lion-O said, getting to his own feet. Apparently she had given him too much, too. To her relief, Tygra's eyes widened rather than his teeth baring. Lion-O, for his part, took a step back on hearing his own words.

"This… this is not the time for this!" Tygra declared. Kit breathed a sigh of relief, and Grune laughed, standing up.

"Oh, I would say now is the perfect time for this!" he laughed, pointing to the Bell of Glory.

XXX

Lion-O let out a breath, lowering himself into a starter position. The crowd had gone silent when it noticed them step into the arena, Grune accepting the Master of Ceremonies' staff. The General was giving an impromptu speech to the audience before announcing the contest.

Lion-O ignored it, raising his face to look at the bronze bell situated at the apex of the three dimensional arena. As Grune was saying, to win you rang the bell first. That was key – he did not have to beat Tygra, just beat him there.

Though it would be so good to knock that smug look off his brother's face.

Glancing to the side, he was irritated by the mere fact Tygra was not looking around, easily holding himself to the start position.

"I am going to ring that bell," Lion-O declared.

"And I'm going to ring yours," Tygra answered, never looking at Lion-O.

"Let the race begin!" Grune proclaimed. He brought the staff down, and even on packed sand he managed a good clang from it.

They were off, crossing the narrow causeway to the branches, neck and neck. Then at the last pace, Tygra leapt ahead onto the wood and went left. Lion-O, gritting his teeth at the early lead, went right.

This was no flat out race, or matter of brute strength, he could do this!

Reaching a flat section, he pulled himself up and stood only to step back instinctively as his brother leapt lashing out with a punch. Lion-O went forward to strike before Tygra could regain his balance. He saw the smile before his brother seized him by the wrist and took his momentum to send him nearly falling off the trunk.

Turning back with bared teeth, the Crown Prince saw Tygra standing on the high ground between him and the bell.

"Face it, little brother, when it comes to everything but the crown, you'll always be second best," Tygra smirked.

"Enough!" Lion-O roared, charging up at the cocky tiger. Claws extended, legs pumping, he would knock the bastard into-

The gut punch knocked the air out of him. He folded forward, one shoulder then the other seized as his own momentum carried him into the hold.

"So predictable," Tygra said.

He shoved and threw Lion-O clear of the vines. Falling, he realized there was no danger of collision, and no way to stop his fall.

The water hit him like a shock, cold to the bone. Immediately, he internally smacked himself. Rushing in like that! As if it could have gone any other way against Tygra on his own terms! Stupid, stupid!

He broke the surface and a bell rang. Treading water, the Prince looked up. Tygra stood perched on the bell, bracing himself against the swinging bronze-work on an ornamental spike with apparent ease.

He had a hand raised in salute to the coliseum, the crowd chanting his name. Lowering his hand, he looked down at Lion-O and smirked.

Looking away, Lion-O swam back towards the shore. Pulling himself out, he gave Grune a wide berth. The General, like everyone else, focused on the winner of the one-sided match.

Reaching the entrance, Kit stepped up beside him, handing her master a dry towel. He looked at the white cloth and glared at her. She flinched back and looked confused.

"You got this before I even stepped into the arena, didn't you?" he said. Her silence was answer enough. Dropping the towel to the ground, he turned away from the stairs to the boxes towards an exit. Enough games.

XXX

Lion-O leaned against the booth, taking a small bite from the spicy sausage and washing it down with a sip from his drink. The Games were letting out, and most of the vendors had gone through their wares. Only the alcohol still seemed to be flowing as other booths closed up.

'This is better,' he thought of the small meal. Things had gotten worse with Grune around, he decided. He had never liked the guy, and Tygra practically worshipped him. It made things tense. He wondered about his father sometimes. Yes, Grune was a great General, and Lion-O could not point out some specific wart, but all he had seen of Grune seemed to add up to not trusting that snaggletoothed smile like his father seemed to.

"Perhaps, you should retire to the palace?" WilyKit asked. As ever, she stood not too far off, looking more nervous than usual. Taking a sip, he looked away over the crowds milling about, taking his time to answer.

"You can if you like. Unless you think I'm going to spill this and need to dry myself off," he said. He didn't see her flinch or her tail tuck in; he was thinking back to the coliseum.

He'd thought he had nothing to lose. But he had made a fool of himself in front of the entire kingdom. Yes, him. Grune started it, and Tygra did the deed, but Lion-O could have said no. It would have been a blow to his pride, but not so much as this had turned out to be.

"In my experience, whether angry or depressed, wine hardly helps," a woman said. That got his attention. And there she was, walking up as if it was the most natural thing. Dressed in that same, nice outfit he noted. Cheetara.

"Uh, it's honeyed milk," he said, lifting the cup slightly. Cheetara smiled and glanced to WilyKit, who was staring at her.

"Keeping him on track, eh? Good job. And good for you too, Lion-O. It took courage to do that," the lovely cheetah said.

"Courage, I lost," he snapped. He took a large bite from the sausage as she smiled. It calmed him down a bit in spite of his stoking the anger.

"There is an old saying, victory bring a single lesson, while defeat brings infinite lessons. I saw a cat who is accustomed to losing to his opponent, but was still willing to try. I'd say that was worth more than the masses cheering for a winner they only love because he is a winner," she said.

Lion-O felt his cheeks warm; he was pretty sure it wasn't the sausage, especially as she joined him in leaning on the booth.

'This night, might not be a total disaster,' he admitted.

XXX

WilyKit repressed a desire to yowl in despair and irritation as the scanty dressed cheetah flattered her prince.

It was worse than she had feared. Just look at those legs! And even a long mane; hers couldn't even grow that long if she wanted to. And those nicely shaped cat ears, unlike her breed's.

And those light red marks over her red eyes, even her facial fur was enticing. She probably dyed it. Yes.

She had him just by walking up. She was probably hoping to get a royal bastard in her belly before sunrise to extort some boon from the royal family. Pussycat!

Oh, but objecting wouldn't do any good. He wouldn't even hear her past that chest! This street cat would probably ask him to dismiss her so they could talk in a minute anyway.

'It'll be my fault too, I knew I should have told the King. He could have talked to Lion-O about this type. Then it would be his fault, not mine!'

But now?

She needed help. But the King was probably deep in something with the nobles by now, as planned. Grune? No. Jaga? Intimidating but good, but who knows where? Oh dear, that left only one option…

'Lion-O is going to hate me for this,' she thought, before slipping away.

XXX

WilyKat watched her go. He had been watching her as best he could throughout the festival.

His twin… even here on the plaza, boundaries unseen separated them. With the group of Feralli he was blending with could he breach the barrier to her? Of course, he controlled the City Feralli clan; these cats followed him.

But it would still be pointless.

She was so pretty. Well-dressed, and not having to hide prosperity like their breed had to when they managed to get it. To be lower than them was unacceptable to other Cats. His father had gone to the boonies for that as much as to escape the Clan obligations.

No, he could not steal back what the "Great" Cats had stolen. He had tried only once to do that. And his rise in the slums was due to three facts – he learned how best to get what he wanted before striking, he learned from his mistakes, and despite the first two he did not easily give up.

Sneaking into the palace had been simpler than he had thought. But his fur was still practically standing on end. He had snuck in at dusk, Cats being less wary than at night and the palace not as busy as daylight called for. And he had hidden, and watched.

Night was in full force now, but this was a rich place. And if rich cats reflected their homes, they would assume their status shielded them from trouble. The eyes would be outward, not expecting that a clever cat was inside.

It was exciting; the palace was beautiful. He could almost imagine he was in El-Dara.

But treasure was not on his mind for once. He had to rescue Kit.

Father was dead. Much as the thought still squeezed cold juice into his stomach, that made him the family head. Mother had to look after WilyFrizz and WilyFrazz, so it fell to him to provide.

He should have made Kit stay, he realized now. It had been selfish to accept her company. Father had been a real Cat; he had put himself in danger for his family.

Though that same dark voice as before still whispered.

With father gone, they had lost both the crop and the "farmer" the landholder had leased the land to. The old cougar hardly saw the rest of them as potential earners and seemed to think a tornado was somehow no excuse for missing payments. Father had rolled the dice by severing ties with the infamous Clan, and pouring all their money into a farm they wouldn't even own till years of paying up to a landholder.

And despite years of making good on debts, now…

No! Focus on the task at hand. Get Kit back.

The palace was beautiful, even sneaking through these corridors from shadow to shadow did not hide that.

It was all so clean! He could not help but wonder how many cats had to scrub and polish to keep it like this when so many passed through here.

But there was no time for gawking, or even wonder. He had a sister to save, and a problem.

He had no idea where to look in this big palace.

Whiskers. Great, long, bristly whiskers.

WilyKat was exhausted, and hungry. Day had come and gone as he snuck about the palace.

He had found the dungeon, and taken the risk of asking an imprisoned Feralli for any news. The prisoner had told him there had been no kits in the dungeon. But rumor had it a slave girl had been given to the Prince.

Which prince was uncertain. Prison gossip was secondhand bored guard gossip.

There was no way to sneak about when the palace had started to come to life before dawn.

So he had hidden and tried to sleep. Tried, being the key word. The slaves and servants had been far more dangerous than the guards. Was there any part of this huge palace that was not attended to?

And now it was finally calm enough that he could make his way to the royal wing. Exhausted, and anxious, but finally drawing toward his goal.

Then a slender and very hard arm slid under his chin.

"You do not belong here. But you're alone and little threat, so I will give you a chance to offer some excuse before I turn you in," a teen cat girl whispered.

"Give me back my sister," he growled. There was silence, and next thing he knew his back was being slammed against the wall. A short Guardian was pinning him with one hand.

He glared at her, but he couldn't see her eyes in the shadows.

"Yes, perhaps. Her name?" the warrior cat said.

"WilyKit," he spat. He should be terrified – these cats wielded magic and could kill a larger cat with both arms behind their back. But he was too angry to care.

"…What would you do if you reached her?" the Guardian asked.

"Free her, take her back," he said. What a stupid question.

"You will not be doing that tonight. But if you agree to remain silent and obey me until sunrise, I will show her to you. Is that fair?" she asked. How he would laugh at that question now.

This had clicked for him. Favors for favors were a system he had quickly discerned in the slums. That such a thing would apply in the palace had only surprised him for a moment. He nodded and she seemed to accept that.

Being practically carried had been humiliating, but he had focused on trying to lay the route as a map in is head. Even if he only got a rough picture, it would be of great value when he returned.

Then she opened a small hole in the wall, and raised him up to look. Clearly this had not been designed with younger cats in mind. And he saw her.

And her quarters. The urge to call out squelched itself before he had to. He was lowered and the hole was covered. Was this a hidden hallway, he finally thought, looking around. The Guardian spoke again.

"You're smart, so you already see. Good.

"It's noble to seek to free your sister. I myself think little of slavery. But freeing her would return her to the slums. Here she will be well cared for. The Princes are kind cats, the Prince of Blood in particular. The collar may bind her, but with such a master it can also shield her.

"Can you say the same of the freedom you would give her?" she asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"I could try," he protested. It sounded pathetic even to his drooping ears. This could have been a trick, nice quarters and his sister cleaner looking than since they left the farm. Not wearing ragged clothing either. But why bother with a trick?

"You are not a slave, you have a choice. I would not think less of you if you did return to try again, but I will not be so merciful then. Will you risk yourself simply to return her to poverty?" she asked.

He had no answer. He forgot to even be surprised when she dumped him outside the palace and did not call in the favor of "obedience until dawn".

He had not gone back. Kat had thought about it, resolved to save her anyway several times. But that resolve drained away each time before he reached the edge of the slums.

Because yet again a truth had been shown to him. He could not compete with even the scraps from the royal tables. He could not even match his father's ability to provide. As always with the Great Cats, they won without even having to really try.

Kat had gone home, defeated. Not a hideaway in the slums, back to the farm. With every intention of asking his mother guidance. Hoping she could tell him what to do.

But of course that journey had revealed fully how the world worked. That fairness was a lie, that the only real justice was what you had the power to impose on the world, and especially the Animals who lived in it.

He had come far, and he had left WilyKit in a safe place while he took the necessary risks. He had worked the system in his favor, turning a liability into an asset.

He cherished the burning of the old resentment as he walked away among the distant kin who he had broken to his leadership.

'I have come a long way. Do not worry Kit, soon. Soon I will begin to make them all pay for what we have had to endure. Just a little while longer,' he thought, fire and screams flitting through his mind.

When the way of the world is your enemy, aligning yourself with the enemy of the world was just good business. It was just another piece of evidence, proof that he would indeed go far enough for what was his to make up for the unfair hand dealt between him and that prince.

No, dwell on it and it will just lead to a need to cut it loose. There is no need; soon there will be no more hiding. The Darkness approached, and he would stand by its side as it swept the world up. And he would smile while holding her hand.

He spared a glance back at the Prince. He could almost pity the ignorance. Almost.

XXX

"By the way, who's your little friend?" Cheetara asked him.

"Oh, this is-" he said, only to realize Kit was gone.

"WilyKit?" he said, looking around.

"She left, looked to be quite upset too," Cheetara said. Lion-O pressed a hand to his face.

"Oh, whiskers. My fault. Listen, I need to, apologize. So…" this night was a disaster after all. Gets the girl, but then sends his friend off with hurt feelings and has to leave the pretty girl. Yes, another entry in the saga of Lion-O, he who stumbles from failure to failure.

"I'll help you look," Cheetara said.

'What?'

"What?" he asked.

"It's sweet, most Cats wouldn't think twice about a slave's feelings. I think there is more to you than you think," Cheetara said.

Not a disaster, for now. Night was not over yet.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong>

_A little gift to readers on my birthday. Sorry it's not one of my more popular stories. Though I am getting close to finishing an update for a PDJ story._

_Well, that does it for the prewritten stuff. I considered going ahead to the mob incident, but I concluded that would serve better to open the next chapter._

_No idea when that will be. In the meantime I hope you continue to enjoy this fic._

_Long days and pleasant nights._


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